The One With Chandler and Phoebe
by Fat Monica
Summary: While Chandler is remoursing the loss of Janice, what would happen if Phoebe's visit went beyond the song? Based on 308, TOW the Giant Poking Device. Pairings: P&C, R
1. Endless Love

**_A/N:_** _Well, here we are! My very first Friends fanfic! *Takes a bow.* Thank you, thank you. First, this is a very… unlikely pairing. I really do not think I have ever seen a Chandler / Phoebe story, but I do hope they're out there. Secondly, the story is rated R, and if it gets worse than that, I'll be moving it over to adultfanficion.net. The story takes place at the very end of 308, The One with the Giant Poking Device, in which Janice leaves Chandler for her ex-husband. I definitely stole a scene from 306, The One with the Flashback, which was Phoebe and Ross instead of Phoebe and Chandler (which for the purpose of this story, never happened). For the purposes of creative freedom, everything that happens **after** 308 is currently obsolete as well. Oh, and expect to see a couple of stolen quotes from the show. =) Happy reading!_

**_Rating_**_: Eventually R_

**_Paring:_**_ Chandler / Phoebe_

**_Disclaimer: _**_If I had any connection with Friends, do you REALLY think I'd be writing this story? _

**Chapter One – Endless Love**

Chandler sat, eyes closed as he hugged a Lionel Richie album and Janice's shoe close to his t-shirt clad chest. A bulky pair of headphones sat on his head, feeding the music past his ears as his mouth sang the words to Endless Love. Janice's words kept playing over in his mind, as much as he tried to make them disappear by raising the volume of his own voice. __

_"You're my soul mate."_

Chandler cringed. It wasn't supposed to end this way. The truth was, Chandler had been alone most of his life. Janice was certainly not his ideal woman, but at least she was _there._ At least she was _his._ She loved him, and that's all he was asking for. That's all he wanted. But she needed something else, something more, and that something was undoubtedly her ex husband.

Just as those thoughts were swimming in his mind as he continued to shamelessly sing the words to one of his favorite songs, the door opened and Phoebe, pizza in arm, walked through the entrance. Hearing him sing and noticing the way he clutched the record in his arms protectively, Phoebe set down the pizza box and walked towards Chandler's recliner, her own voice joining his as she began to sing as well. 

Hearing her voice, Chandler's eyes opened and a smile ghosted across his lips at the familiar face of one of his best friends. They each continued to sing, words perfectly matched, voices filling the air in something that was definitely _not _harmony as Phoebe took a seat on the arm of Chandler's chair.

Chandler's head tilted upwards and his eyes closed as he screeched out a solo, and Phoebe's thumb lifted in the air to encourage him on a job well done. His eyes opened again and he tilted his head to look up at her, her own eyes cast down to focus on his dimly lit face. 

As they continued to sing, Chandler could feel a warmth somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. Despite her quirkiness, despite the fact that she was, more often than not, _way_ out there, she could almost always make him smile. 

As the song came to a close and they each struggled to find their own note, Chandler's head slide to the side, his cheek resting against the warm fabric of her brown suede shirt. She placed a kiss on top of his head, her hands proceeding to lift the headphones from his ear. She gently placed them on the floor, along with the record and its player, and Janice's shoe, before sliding to her knees in front of him. Her eyes were genuine with concern as they studied his face and his own eyes returned her intense gaze. 

She could see something in him that other people never seemed to find. It was a rare glimpse, and there was a part of her that felt special every time she found it. He was sensitive, despite the sarcastic quips that flew from his mouth like the exhaust from an engine, but more than that… He was heartbroken. She had seen it on previous Thanksgiving's when he would talk about his parents, and she could see it when he would watch Ross and Rachel with a longing that no one but Phoebe ever took the time to notice. And she could see it now, with his face turned in a frown as his eyes studied her, wondering what was going on behind her soft blue orbs. 

She took her time, slowly lifting her hands to cup his cheeks. She sat up on her knees and propped her forehead up against his own, taking the time brush her thumb across his soft skin. She stared at him for a long time, and Chandler decided she must have been observing his aura or one of those new age things that Phoebe prided herself in. He was startled out of his thoughts when she finally spoke.

"You are amazing. She was an idiot for choosing Gary."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and pursed his lips. "You think so?" 

She nodded. "I _know _so. Because you're funny…" She kissed the tip of his nose. "And because you're smart…" She moved her lips to his cheek and pressed another kiss there, too. "And _any_ girl would be lucky to have you." She finally stopped her mouth against his upper lip and puckered her own, her eyes searching his face for some sign. A sign of what, she wasn't sure – to stop, to keep going – but she knew when she saw it, she'd understand. 

He opened his mouth and she expected him to speak, but instead they latched themselves to the soft mounds of her lips. His hands moved urgently to the back of her head, his fingers wrapping themselves through the silky blonde strands that hung like golden sunlight against her head. 

_What the hell are you doing,_ he inwardly scolded, _this is **Phoebe**! She's just trying to make you feel better!_

The words made sense to him and before the kiss even began, he pulled away. His face was contorted with a mixture of confusion and possible regret as he muttered quickly, pushing himself back against the chair as a desperate attempt to get away from her.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know what I was doing! That was you! You didn't want-" But before he could keep going, her lips were welding themselves to his again as she pressed her body up against his. He vaguely heard her mutter "sshhh, its okay" against his lips, but he'd never be quite sure if she said it or if he imagined it. 

The weird part was it _didn't_ feel weird. He should have been freaking out because he was kissing a woman he'd known for years and had never looked at as anything more than a friend. _You still aren't_, his mind contradicted, _its desire, its physical attraction, it's_…

"Ohh…" Her hand was now on his thigh, squeezing lightly. Her mouth tasted sweet and warm, and her tongue was far more skilled than he had expected as it probed his lips and explored curiously the dark crevice of his mouth. He tugged lightly on her hair, his body reacting to her in a way that he hadn't felt in a long time. 

Kissing Janice had been different. It had been… comfortable. There hadn't been heat for as long as he could remember, but _this…_ This was heat. This was passion. 

Her head pulled away momentarily, both of their chests heaving as they struggled for breath. His eyes were still closed and she smiled with satisfaction. The look on his face was the reaction she had wanted. 

She pulled away to stand up, and Chandler's eyes flew open. He jumped out of his chair as she made her way towards the open door and he moved swiftly into the kitchen, reaching out to grab her arm.

"Where are you going?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Back home."

"W-Why?"

She laughed quietly and brought her hand to his shoulder, patting it gently. "In time, Chandler. In time."

He sighed, desperation playing across the features of his boyish face. He brought his hand to cup her cheek, thumb grazing her swollen lower lip. "Phoebe, please… don't go." 

She smiled sympathetically. "Joey's going to be home any second now. Oh! Come to dinner with me!" She jumped once, clapping her hands together, and he smiled. "Yeah, come on, we can… we can get dessert. Nothing heals like chocolate." 

He studied her for a moment and finally nodded his head. "Sure, just let me change."

She shook her head. "You look perfect like that. Let's go." 


	2. The Shoebox

**_A/N:_** _So I'm introducing Ross and Rachel into the story. Why? You may never know. =) Many thanks to Erin, who's my beta, and to that one kind soul who left me a comment. I am touched. Oh, and also James, because he was my stand-in beta for this chapter and because he said so. __J_

**_Rating_**_: Eventually R_

**_Paring:_**_ Chandler / Phoebe, Ross / Rachel_

**_Disclaimer: _**_If I had any connection with Friends, do you REALLY think I'd be writing this story? _

**Chapter Two – The Shoebox**

The door to the apartment opened and Monica passed a glance in Ross's direction as he entered the room. He was distracted as he made his way through the open space; eyes roaming from one place to the next - in search of what, Monica had no idea. Finally stopping in front of Rachel's room, he turned with purpose towards his sister.

"Do you remember that puzzle I bought about three years ago, and I left it here because I was moving…" He made a gesture with his hand. "I never got it back."

Monica set down her sponge, facing him. "The one with the rocks on the cover?"

Ross paused. "Yeah."

"That's still in Rachel's closet. I'll get it." She began to move towards him, but he stopped her with a raise of his hand. 

"No, I'm right here, I can get it." Turning into the bedroom, he quietly closed the door behind him. 

The room smelled fresh, and sweet, like a perfect balance of Rachel's body wash and her apple scented shampoo. Ross could still remember what it felt like to run his fingers through the honey colored silk that veiled her perfect head, and even now he could hear the quiet moans that she would elicit when his fingers worked their magic.

With a sigh, he snapped himself from his reverie and resumed his puzzle mission. Absently humming the _Mission__: Impossible _theme song under his breath, he opened Rachel's closet and knelt in front of it.

The area was filled with a sea of shoes that far outweighed the number of outfits Rachel owned. He began to shuffle through the endless abyss of imitation leather and suede until he finally reached the back of her closet, where a stack of shoeboxes awaited him. As his eyes roamed in search of the puzzle, something else caught his attention. Scrawled on top of one of the shoeboxes was the word _Ross _in plain black ink. 

Even though he knew snooping would be wrong, his curiosity got the better of him. With nimble fingers, he pulled the shoebox out of the closet, sat cross-legged on the floor, and set it down in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it open. 

To anyone besides Rachel, everything in the shoebox looked like crap, from the dinosaur bone that she had taken from the museum, to an eggshell that sat alone in the corner of the box. 

He was looking at a box of memories that Rachel had kept. Memories of _him,_ of their relationship. Why she didn't burn it the night she discovered his unfaithfulness, Ross would never know, but here it was, in his lap, mocking him. Reminding him of his failure, reminding him of the one good thing he had let slip through his fingers.

Shaky hands returned the lid to its box and he slid it back to its home. Returning the shoes as best he could, he grasped the side of the bed for support and stood on faltering legs. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves. Opening the door, he made his way swiftly through the apartment, ignoring Monica's curious enquiries as he slipped out of the door. 

[[---]]

"And so, like, there he was just _standing _there, so I sort of just threw a robe on him and ran out."

Phoebe stabbed her salad with a fork and lifted a scoop of leafy green vegetables to her mouth. Chandler sat across from her, completely ignoring the chicken in front of him, his leg bouncing in a constant rhythm against the carpeted floor.  

_How can she be so calm?! We just made out!_

He reached for his water glass and downed half of it in one gulp, tongue lapping at the dew that clung to his upper lip.

"CHANDLER!"

"Huh, what?" His head jerked upwards, eyes immediately finding Phoebe's face. "Oh, I'm sorry Pheebs, I was listening." 

_That_ was convincing.

"Chandler." She slid forward in her seat, elbows rest on the table, chin propped in her hand. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Everything is _just _fine. Except for the fact that, you know, I just _made out_ with one of my best friends who now want to pretend it _never happened_! No, I'm great, I'm just _peachy._"

"Whoa, calm down there cowboy." She held up her hand, slumped back in her seat. "I don't want to pretend it never happened."

"Then _why_ are you telling me stories about naked accountants?"

She rolled her eyes. "He wasn't an accountant! He was a _teller._ Teller!"

Chandler picked up a napkin and began to tear it into tiny little shreds. "This… isn't really helping."

"Oh, okay, alright. Look, Chandler." She slid closer again, reached across the table, and grabbed his hand. "You are one of the most important people in my life. I love you. You were sad. I wanted to distract you."

He smiled a little, squeezed her hand. "Well, thanks Pheebs. It's worked, I mean, I haven't thought about Janice all afternoon."

"And that kiss was pretty damn hot too, huh?"

He laughed. "That's an understatement. I never knew you could kiss like that."

"Oh, well, that's not even the thing I do best."

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Well, if you're still sad, maybe you could find out." She winked, reached for her purse, and pulled out her wallet, speaking absently as she pulled out her credit card. "You know, I've always had a thing for you, Chandler."

She motioned for the waiter and he claimed the bill and the credit card. The second he returned with the small plastic card, Chandler jumped from his seat, grabbed Phoebe's hand, and ran for the door.

[[---]]

Phoebe's fingers were wrapped through Chandler's hair as his lips skated across her neck, tongue occasionally flicking against the sensitive skin. Chandler's heart beat quickly inside his chest as his hand slowly slid along her body, exploring this new territory, hand guiding his fingers up her side and slowly cupping her breast, finding her nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt to pinch it between experienced fingers.            

Phoebe's head fell against the arm of the couch with ease as his lips made their journey downward. She felt his goosebumps rising to meet her fingers as they ghosted down his neck and dipped beneath the collar of his shirt. His back was completely smooth to her touch, and that sent her hands lower, wanting to explore more of him, feel every part of him that she could. It didn't feel weird that this was Chandler – instead, it felt warm and raw, and the more she lie here with him on top of her, the more needy they both became. She could feel him hardening against her thigh as her legs wrapped around his waist, hips pushed against her own with animal need. 

And then the doorknob twisted, and a disgruntled Ross called from the other side: "Chandler! I need to talk to you! I know you're in there!"

Phoebe frowned. "Oh, no."

Chandler's movements above Phoebe stilled and he groaned, eyes finding her face. She gave a slight, sympathetic nod and he slowly stood, adjusting his shirt over the obvious tent in his pants as Phoebe sat up and smoothed her own shirt down, tucking hair behind her ear. 

Ross's fist pounded the door. "CHANDLER!"

"I'm coming! Jesus Christ…" He pulled the door open, scowling at the mere presence of Ross on the other side of his door. "What is it?"

To say that Ross looked upset would have been an understatement. His fingers were clenched into fists at his side as he came into the apartment, barely noticing Phoebe's presence on the couch.

"It's Rachel."

Chandler rubbed the back of his neck, pushed the door closed. "Of course it is. What else is it, _ever_?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Ross lowered himself onto a stool and leaned against the counter. "I found this shoebox of stuff in her closet."

"Oh!" Phoebe piped in, "Was it full of sand? Did it have a crab in it?"

Ross blinked. "No…" 

She shrugged. "That's what would have been in _my _shoebox."

Scowling, Ross turned back to Chandler. "I think… I _think _she may still have feelings for me. Why would she have kept it otherwise? And I _know _we just broke up, but…"

Chandler silenced Ross with a raise of his hand. "Ross. Come on, man. There are probably a million reasons why she kept that box." Softening his voice, he added: "Don't do this to yourself."

Ross sighed, eyes averting downwards as his fingers slid back and forth across the cool counter, and when he finally spoke, the tone in his voice was sad, heart wrenching. "I still love her."

The remaining two faces in the room fell, and an awkward silence hung like a conspicuous chandelier. Slowly, Phoebe stood, glancing first at Ross, then towards Chandler. "I have um, I have to go, cause it's kind of uncomfortable in here right now."

Chandler nodded, and found himself wishing he had the boldness that Phoebe possessed, to say exactly what was on her mind. She bit her lip, sliding out of the door and into the hallway, leaving the two men alone.


	3. Worth the Wait

**_A/N:_** _SEX! To everyone who left me comments… you made my week. Also, it's come to my attention that the Ross and Rachel breakup comes after TOW the Giant Poking Device. So we'll just pretend I'm right. =) _

**_Rating_**_: R_

**_Paring:_**_ Chandler / Phoebe, Ross / Rachel_

**_Disclaimer: _**_If I had any connection with Friends, do you REALLY think I'd be writing this story? _

**Chapter Two – Worth the Wait**

When Ross finally made his way out of Chandler's apartment, he looked just as bereaved, if not more so, than when he walked in. Chandler had no words of advice for him – and not even as many sarcastic comments as a conversation would normally entail. Chandler was never good at knowing what to do in these situations, so he just listened as Ross grieved over his fallen relationship, and the love he still harbored for Rachel.

After Ross was gone, Chandler sat alone on a stool next to the counter, and his mind disconnected in a thousand different directions. On one hand, a part of his thoughts were on Phoebe, and the situation they were in when Ross interrupted. He couldn't help but wonder how far she planned on letting this go until she came to her senses… if she ever _did_. After all, this _was _Phoebe.  

The rest of his mind was trapped with Ross and his problems. That's what came with having so many close friends – you always found yourself connecting to their problems until you take them on yourself. So now Chandler sat, thinking about Ross and Rachel, and how even now he believed they were meant to be together. 

And then it hit him again, like a thousand bricks falling on a helpless victim, how hurt he was when he learned of Janice kissing her ex husband. He could only imagine the intensity of pain Rachel must have felt at Ross's recreancy. 

The more Chandler sat and thought, the more he needed to pull himself away. He grabbed his keys and gladly left the apartment, locking the door behind him. 

[…]

Phoebe sat alone on the big orange couch of central perk, her head resting against the back of it. Her breathing was steady and even, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as though she were in the midst of some beautiful dream from which she never wanted to awaken.

That's how she looked when Chandler found her, and his first thought was to wonder if she was thinking about him. Silently, coffee mug in hand, he lowered himself next to her on the couch, careful not to disturb her seemingly content form. After he sat for a good five minutes, occasionally glancing towards her as he sipped from the ceramic cup, she finally spoke without ever opening her eyes.

"Is he gone?"

Chandler nodded, and then realized she couldn't see him. "Yes, Elvis has left the building."

She opened her eyes and sat up a little. "Is he okay?"

Chandler shook his head and left that as his answer. She sighed, reached forward, and picked a piece of lint off of his shirt.

"You look doochy."

Chandler's head did a double take. "I'm… doochy, Pheebs?"

"Well, yeah, you know. Sad. Your Aura is dirty."

He smirked. "Maybe you should cleanse it for me."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You'd let me do that?"

"Well, that depends on what'd I'd have to do."

She smirked as well and leaned over, whispering something in his ear. His eyes widened and he shifted on the couch, grabbing a pillow to rest firmly on his lap.

"I… _definitely_ think you should cleanse it."

She took the coffee cup out of his hand and took a sip, then wrinkled her nose. "Ew! Milk!" She scraped her tongue with her teeth and shoved the coffee cup back towards him, her lips twisting in disgust. 

"That's right, Pheebs. The creamy white stuff that goes in coffee and other yummy things?"

She growled and shoved his shoulder with her own. "Do you _want _your aura to stay dirty?"

"No! No, I'm sorry, here, shall I get you some water?"

She shook her head. "No, but, do you want to go back to my apartment?"

He grinned. "Uh huh." 

She jumped up and waited as he set his coffee down on the table in front of them, jumping up and down to release some of the pent up energy that pooled while she sat. After depositing some money as a tip on the table, Chandler joined Phoebe as they made their exit. 

[…]

There were no candles, no Frank Sinatra playing in the background. No satin sheets, no lingerie, not even a bed. Just a light green couch and the sound of mouths and tongues playing an unrehearsed symphony of kisses, and hands traveling over territory never before explored. 

Phoebe lay on her back, legs wrapped around Chandler's waist. All clothes except for a few pieces of underwear had already been discarded and left a trail from the door, to Phoebe's couch. Phoebe's creamy skin felt hot against Chandler's touch, her breasts inviting as they rose and fell with every heavy inhale of breath. At this moment, he had never hated anything more than that lacy, revealing blue bra. 

Phoebe's hands were having fun of their own as they explored Chandler's body. He was soft, yet rough at the same time, a perfect blend of sleekness and masculinity. His body arched against her fingertips as they searched him, dipping below his boxers, taking him in her hand beneath the cotton fabric.

She stroked and tugged and squeezed, and he hissed with every teasing flick of her thumb. His hips made circles towards her hand until he forced her to stop with a grunt.

"Close. Too close."

Phoebe understood and withdrew. He whimpered at the loss and watched her from behind hooded lids as her hands lifted to unclasp her bra from behind. Chandler's breath caught in his throat as the cloth was discarded, and her hand moved to the back of his head as it dipped down to capture a nipple between his lips, her fingers curling through his hair. 

Her foot lifted and she pushed at the cloth of his boxers with her toes. "Off…"

His head came back for a nod and he lifted himself up, long enough to slide the fabric down his hips and discard them across the room with a kick. He hovered over her, pulling down her panties, dropping his nose to her thighs to inhale deeply her erotic, pungent scent. 

She mewled, lifted her hips, and closed her eyes when his mouth moved further south, tongue making a teasing stroke against her. Her fingers dug into his shoulder, begging for more, and he complied with another lick of his tongue. He was more skilled than she expected him to be. 

His tongue plunged deep, tasting her, tasting _Phoebe_, and _god _she tasted good. He nuzzled her with his nose, and made a few long, slow thrusts with his tongue before he pulled away. He looked at her, his heart skipping a few beats at the site of her face, contorted into beautiful arousal. He wanted to see that look on her face all the time, whenever he was around, whenever he could cause it. 

"Chandler," she pleaded, "Please… please, please, _please_…"

He lifted himself up, positioning himself over her. His mouth found her ear as his fingers replaced his tongue, stretching and preparing her, and he whispered; "Are you…?"

She whimpered and rocked against his fingers, managing to nod her head against the couch. "On the pill."

He nodded this time and pulled his hand back from her, fingers wrapping around his erection, positioning himself over her. He swallowed thickly and slowly eased himself inside, biting hard on his lip to keep from crying out.

She was tight, hot, wet, everything he imagined her to be, only a million times better. He mentally forced himself to take it slow, to keep from hurting her, but the way she was rising to meet him and rocking her hips in slow circles against his hips was making it almost impossible. 

She was moaning, and somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear her asking for more, begging him to go faster. He complied, thrust into her as fast as his body would let him, feeling himself going deeper with every thrust.

His mind was a blur, and all he could see was her face, clouded by a stinging drop of sweat that dripped into his eyes. The longer he went, the more his muscles ached, the more his body aching for release he knew he couldn't last. 

He threw his head back, his body tensing as he gave a loud cry and collapsed on top of her, struggling for every breath. She whispered his name, trailed her fingers down his back, and kissed the top of his head.

Finally, Chandler muttered, propping his chin on her shoulder: "That was… wow."

Phoebe nodded slowly. "Yeeeeaaaah. Can we do it again?"

Chandler smirked. "Okay!"

[…]

_A/N_; _That__ was an abrupt ending, I know. But I suck at post-sex and that's all that was in my chapter outline for this chapter so… new chapter soon!_


	4. Do You Still Love Me?

**_A/N:_** _This one is going to be short, but I needed to get a new chapter up. Not much was planned for this chapter in my story outline, so bear with me here kids. And everything I "reveal" about Phoebe is my own interpretation of how I see her, and has nothing to do with the writers of Friends._

**_A/N2: _**_By far not my best writing. Worst chapter yet. That's what writers block and a determination to get through it gets you. Bad writing._

**_Rating_**_: R_

**_Paring:_**_ Chandler / Phoebe, Ross / Rachel_

**_Disclaimer: _**_ I can't stress this point to strongly… this story isn't real._

**Chapter Four – Do You Still Love Me?**

Chandler collapsed against Phoebe's mattress, breathing harder than he ever had in his life. One thing he had learned about Phoebe after their initial encounter on her couch was that in bed, she knew what she was doing – and she did it well. Her hands were trained and experienced, her sense of control overwhelming at times, but in the best of ways.

And now he was lying next to her, arms wrapped around her, inhaling her scent. She smelled like an array of aromatherapy candles and fruit-scented lotion. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he thought that she smelled like pineapple. Or was it apple…?

"You know," her voice interrupted, "you're much better at that then I thought you'd be."

Had anyone other than Phoebe said that, Chandler would question whether or not to take that as a compliment. "Thank you," he answered smugly, "I have had sex with over four women."

Phoebe rolled over, draped her arm over his nude stomach. "Is it just me, or should we _totally _do that again?"

Chandler perked an eyebrow. "_Now_? I may have amazing stamina, but five times in a row?"

She laughed. "No, not _now._ Just, you know, sometime… again, in the future."

He smiled and turned to his side so he could see her better. "You really want to?"

"Sure, it's not like I have anyone better to do."

They laid there for the next hour talking. At one point, Chandler noted how it felt just like sitting in the coffee shop with one of his best friends, only they were naked and in each others arms. And in his opinion, that was the _best _way to be.

The conversation eventually swayed where it never really had before – at least, not to the extent it was about to. Chandler asked Phoebe about her life on the streets, and listened with pained regret for her as she told her story. She didn't think much of it – it was almost as if she didn't take it seriously, but Chandler knew there was so much more to it than that. He could see it in her eyes when she talked about mugging for food money. He could hear it in her voice when she talked about her mother's funeral. He could sense it in the way she had to stop talking at one point to keep composure, because it was _painful._ Chandler had always thought he had had a bad childhood, but now he was starting to understand that it was nothing compared to Phoebe's.

And he figured out that Phoebe's innate _weirdness _and, yes, _innocence_, was how she fought back the cruel hand the cards had dealt her.

"You know, I admire you. For not being a victim."

Phoebe looked at him, surprised. "No one has ever said that to me before. Thank you, Chandler." She offered a wide smile, her lips curling to one side as they always did, and for the first time since he'd known her, he found that smile completely irresistible.

"Welcome."

"You're not serious very often. You were about to cry, weren't you?" She smirked at him and lifted herself onto one elbow so she could look down at his face.

"No!" She rolled her eyes and propped her chin on his chest.

"You know something?" She asked, after a long moment of silence. She didn't wait for an answer to continue. "It's weird, like… everybody in the six of us have, like, these incredible connections that go _way _back and I don't have any of that. Sometimes…" She trailed off and he nudged her, encouraging her to keep going. "Well, sometimes I wonder if I'm, just… if I'll, just, fall out of the group and nobody will really notice that I'm gone. Well, you might notice now cause you know how great the sex is."

He smiled. "You know, I have no sarcastic comment to that. You've stumped me, Pheebs."

She shrugged. "I do do that sometimes."

"That would never happen, Phoebe. I wouldn't let it."

She lifted her eyes to his face – wide, innocent eyes that were begging him to confirm his words - and that same perfect smile found her mouth. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She leaned up and kissed him again, her tongue dangerously independent and hungry for a taste of Chandler's mouth. It didn't take much of her lips, and her body pressed into his, for Chandler to realize that a fifth time _would _seal the deal.

She slid down his nude body and rested between his legs. Her hands slid his legs apart, rested on his thighs, and she trailed kisses around his bellybutton. She nuzzled his stomach with her nose before she took him in her hand and without warning, pulled him into her mouth.

He writhed against the bed, bunching and unbunching the soft cotton sheets between his fingers. He moaned her name, lifted his head off the bed to watch himself disappear between her _perfect _lips – _cock sucking lips_, he thought, _wonderful, perfect, fucking perfect, _and he fought to keep himself from coming immediately in her mouth.

He held back as long as he could and she never missed a moment. Never grew tired of wrapping her lips around him, never grew tired of the head bobbing or the cheek-hollowing suction of her mouth. And she certainly never grew tired of his taste.

She put her hand on his balls, rolled them around between nimble fingers, and felt them tightening in her hand. She brought her eyes to his face and noted the look of pure ecstasy that converted his otherwise boyishly handsome features. All she could think about was tasting him, and that didn't take long. Moments later, he arched his back and his entire body stiffened, a loud and guttural moan from deep in his throat filling the air in the form of her name, and he came hard inside of her mouth.

_Best goddamn blowjob _ever_. And fuck, she swallowed._

She smiled and pulled herself up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He wanted to thank her, but she didn't want him to. She bent down and pushed her lips hard to his, distributing the taste of his hot seed into his own mouth. Some guys got off on the taste of themselves in a girls mouth, and Chandler seemed to be one of them. He moaned and returned her kiss with ardor, hands dropping to her hips. He turned her over and pushed her hard into the bed, grinding his hips into her thigh. His penis was already growing hard again – with her, it didn't take long.

The next few minutes were an ecstatic blur, his erection inside of her, his thrusts hard and meaningful, until both of their bodies ached for orgasm. Nipples were pinched; hair was grabbed, until Chandler's body finally stopped and he came inside her, collapsed on top of her, and let out a long, satisfied groan.

[…]

Ross had been standing outside of Rachel's door for twenty minutes. He just stared at the wood, and on the rare occasion that his hand would lift to knock, it would drop once again to his side. It was on one of these occasions that Rachel had opened the door to take out the garbage, and rammed her forehead into his waiting fist.

"Oh, my god! Rachel! I'm so sorry!"

She waved him off and dropped the bag, and stumbled back towards a kitchen chair. She took a seat and began laughing for no apparent reason as she held her wounded head in her hand.

"What, what, um, Rachel, what is funny?" Ross eyed her skeptically as he knelt in front of her and attempted to pry her hand from her head.

"Just, what are the odds?"

"I don't really see the humor here, Rach."

She glared at him and allowed her hand to be pulled away from her head, which was now bright red. It would be much more colorful tomorrow – she'd be sporting a fleshy blue, black, and purple bruise to work the next day. Perhaps she could try to sell it to Bloomingdales. Make her first major impact in design and she would have Ross's fist to thank for it.

"Lighten up, I'm fine."

He steadied himself on one knee and lightly blew on her forehead. He was close now, and the thought flashed through his mind that this was as close as they'd been since the breakup. It felt so good to have her right there, right next to him again, without the fighting and the anger and…

"I… it feels… it feels better, now." Her voice was only barely above a whisper. She felt it too. Felt the heat and the energy that still hung between them and it was making her uncomfortable. Maybe this is when he should ask her… maybe this was his moment to question if she still loved him… "Ross, I'm really… really okay now."

His eyes kept hers for a longer moment and he slowly nodded. He should pull away, pull himself away from her, let all of this go… but he couldn't. He had to know.

"Rachel…" He found himself whispering just as she had. He cleared his throat, attempted to look and sound more confident, but it wasn't working. He only looked more vulnerable… and somehow, he managed to look scared. "Rachel, there's… something I have to ask you. I don't… I can't… I have…"

She put her fingertips to his lips. "Shh. Just _ask._"

He nodded and took a deep breath, mentally prepping himself just as he had since high school. _Be cool. Just… be cool._ He closed his eyes for a split second and when he opened them again, he seemed closer to Rachel than ever. She could feel his breath on her neck, and he could smell the aroma of her perfume, burning his nostrils with how _Rachel _it smelled. It was so perfectly _her… _

Just ask. Just ask, just ask, just _ask_. Her voice rang in his ear and he nodded to her voice inside his head. He took another deep breath – probably the millionth he'd taken since he first stopped outside her front door – and finally, he spoke.

"Rachel… do you… still love me?"


End file.
